Come on, you complacent fogies who used to slide down hills and run through the night.  I hear nothing but children and grandchildren, miasmatic memories of your careers, photos of happy family gatherings, picnics under the Richmond San Rafael bridge, by San Quentin, and I, for one, am sick of it.  I want to hear about your favorite band, illicit lovers, tax fiascos, failed businesses and marriages.  How you walked home alone at night, what your cat said.  No one wants to reveal themself, and I hate it.  So, I have prepared a questionaire that everyone should submit to:  What is your favorite color?  Are you straight or Republican?  Can you drive?  Who is your favorite poet?  What is the meaning of life?  When did you stop beating your wife?  Do you now, or have you ever snored?  These are only suggestions, subject to debate.